


if you go, take the train (so i can hear it rumble)

by PUNK_MENACE



Series: i'll know when the storm passes because my lungs will be overflowing [1]
Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Canonical Child Abuse, Drowning, Found Family, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JJ/Pope is vague in this one, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, SERIOUSLY HUGE SPOILERS, Spoilers, Trauma, it's short but it's gross, their last names aren't confirmed but oh whale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23791735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PUNK_MENACE/pseuds/PUNK_MENACE
Summary: In the aftermath, JJ thinks. He thinks about what it's like to drown.
Relationships: JJ Maybank & Pope Heyward, JJ Maybank & Pope Heyward & Kiara Carrera, JJ Maybank/Pope Heyward
Series: i'll know when the storm passes because my lungs will be overflowing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714045
Comments: 14
Kudos: 149





	if you go, take the train (so i can hear it rumble)

**Author's Note:**

> **Title is from "Happy" by Mitski.**
> 
> I had to get my thoughts on the show/JJ's trauma/the finale out in this fic so that I can write coherent sequels, lol. This is partly a character study, mostly a bridge between canon and post-canon, so it's shorter than what I usually write. 
> 
> Please heed the tags and stay safe! The short description of drowning/corpses is separated by a gap and starts after, "It worked for about a year before the mental images became too fuzzy to have any real effect anymore." To avoid it, start reading again at, "JJ’s leg is bouncing hard enough to rock the shitty plastic chair."

The Phantom was lost. Gone.

JJ knows what happens to boats during a storm. He remembers Scooter’s Grady-White, remembers flipping off the bow of the pogue from hitting the underside. It had been submerged, tossed through the sea until it ended up far, far away from Scooter's corpse. Feasted on by the crabs.

Now the Phantom is sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor - maybe it’s already there - and John B is dead or dying. Drowning. JJ once almost drowned. He’d been surfing with John B during a storm after drinking too many stolen beers. A wave had knocked him off his board and he was dragged down to the sand. Tumbling over and over, every inch of him smacking into rocks and packed sand, and his vision had been going dark when John B dragged him up to the surface.

JJ blinks hard and digs his nails into his arms. The FBI agent is burning holes into the side of his head. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the agent started trying to question JJ, but it was definitely enough to get a vein popping out on the man's forehead. But he won’t make eye contact. Won’t give these pigs an inch.

He can’t breathe right. Something is pushing on his chest, scratching on the sensitive flesh from within. It burns when he breathes, and he can only think of John B and Sarah drowning.

All the OBX kids had been taught in the third grade what happens when you drown in an attempt to scare them out of sneaking into the water without adult supervision. JJ remembers running from home nearly every day to go to John B's and play with him and Pope. They would get bored, knowing how fun it would be to go to shore, the adventures the banks held. The three of them - and, apparently, many other children - would sneak out to the water. So, the parents complained to the school, forcing them to have a whole day dedicated to teaching the kids how dangerous it is to swim without adult supervision. It worked for about a year before the mental images became too fuzzy to have any real effect anymore.

But he still remembers, of course. With the lives they lead, it's always a possibility. You panic, you know you’re going to die, and your fragile mammal body begs for oxygen. You need to breathe so badly that when it finally becomes too much, you open your mouth and let the water in. It makes you heavy. It makes you sink. And by then, you can’t move. Without immediate help, you die.

He can’t stop thinking about John B opening his mouth and having his lungs and stomach fill with cold saltwater. His mind presents images of his and Sarah’s rotting, bloated corpses. Skin peeling away, purplish-grey, swollen and stinking and dead.

JJ’s leg is bouncing hard enough to rock the shitty plastic chair. The agent asks him something, and he just digs his nails in deeper.

His eyes still sting from crying. He doesn’t want to think about digging his forehead into Pope's shoulder, arms crushing him closer, sobbing until there was no breath left in any nook or cranny of his body. If he thinks about that, he’ll think about the barren seconds between processing John B’s death and being pulled into that hug. The extended silence in his head. Waiting for _his_ parents to wrap him up and protect him. Because there was no one there. And even if his dad _had_ come, JJ would have been disgusted with himself if he had accepted his father’s hug. If he had given into the man after he left bruises the side of softballs on his own son. 

Drunk, sober, it doesn't matter. His father is not the man who hugged him and smiled at him, softened from the alcohol and drugs. Fucking pathetic. His son stands up to him _once_ and he puts that ridiculous smile on his face?

How many fucking times did JJ get beaten and just get up afterward, refusing to let his old man destroy whatever was left of him? Countless times. Nine years' worth of beatings from the day his mother died. Nine years and JJ is still alive, still rabid.

“Alright,” the agent says, “Fine. I see you’re not going to cooperate. I understand it's been a long day. You can go. But I’ll be seeing you again soon - there are questions I need you to answer. There are too many dead bodies now.” He gestures to the chairs outside the tent where Pope and his parents are sitting. Kie and her parents have already left. She'd been inconsolable, having just gotten Sarah back only to lose her again. Unable to speak past her grief, Kie had tucked Pope and JJ close. Hugging them both tight, she said nothing and then turned back into her mother's embrace.

He doesn’t give the agent the satisfaction of hearing him speak and just staggers out of the tent. He feels too much. Too much anger, loss, disbelief. Too much of emotions he can't even pinpoint and name. Maybe JJ could’ve handled this if it didn’t all happen so quickly, if John B hadn’t left so quickly, died within the span of a sentence delivered by deputy Shoupe. But everything piles up and blends together. Falls on his head like a pile of bricks. His body aches. Thoughts race in his mind too quick to process but solid enough to hurt. He can’t concentrate.

Pope slips his hand into JJ’s. He blinks and looks down at their joined hands. He had meant to sit down beside Pope but apparently, the thought just never reaches his body. Maybe his synapses are too busy with the crushing, full-body ache of grief. Pope tugs him down to sit. His dad gets up and murmurs something about bringing the car around. Rain continues to pound down on them. JJ lets Pope guide him, lets himself wilt until his head rests on Pope's shoulder. 

From there, he doesn’t care to tune in. The only voice that gets through is Pope’s.

“You can stay with me. Please.”

He can’t speak. Instead, he shifts closer and presses his forehead to Pope’s neck. He feels Pope shiver. JJ's hair is soaked and plastered to his face. Cold drops of water drip onto Pope's skin. Pope exhales slowly and nods once, smoothing JJ’s hair back.

Nothing else matters enough to pay attention to. Nothing else matters but Pope and Kie. They’re the one constant in his life. Not his dad, not his dead mom, not even the bruises throbbing on his body. Just them two and the faces of John B and Sarah. Amid the storm, barely strong enough to drag a breath in and let it go, JJ feels his heart steel, feels a layer of scar tissue form.

_P_ _rotect them. Keep them close. Don’t let go._

He would have done anything for his friends before. Now he knows he’ll probably have to. He knows it’ll be easier than ever. To rob, maim, kill for them. They’re all he has left - Pope and Kie. Pope, Kie, and the memories of John B and Sarah that he swears to never forget. He has them and they have him, so he won’t ever leave, even if they ask him to, because the gaping hole in his chest hurts so much that he couldn’t bear making them relive this. He’ll use his teeth. Hang on by his nails. Give up chunks of himself. Anything to stay together.

He'd rather become a monster than lose them. He'd rather grow fangs and claws and become unrecognizable to himself than lose his family. And, truly, what's a bit of blood on his ledger compared to losing them? He was raised by a monster, after all.

JJ knows it like the back of his hand - like the back of his father's hand smashing into his cheek. Slipping that skin on, it's nothing. He can take that. He _will_. Because he knows that Kie and Pope will let him come home to them, where he doesn't need to be made up of sharp angles. They can reel him back.

JJ snakes his arm around Pope's waist and shifts ever closer, erasing the remaining space between them. He had failed John B, hadn't kept him safe the way they always did for each other, but there's no way in hell he's letting that happen again.

Even if it means becoming just as bad as the people that took John B away.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly saw more chemistry between Pope and JJ than Pope and Kiara and I think Kiara deserves to be a wlw because she gives me huge wlw vibes. Anyways, if you want to shoot me a message, story request, or whatever, here's my [Tumblr](https://james-writes-occasionally.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
